12. Vian
VIAN
Idoubt I have ever uttered more sincere words, tiptoeing on the edge of peril. Fuck, but it’s the truth. There is no other choice for me—only ever her. I can’t keep my mouth sealed; my heart roars to be heard, my love to be reciprocated.
Her face contorts into a contrite expression. I confuse her, but I also know her soul recognizes me, even needs me. Gaining her trust is one thing. Keeping it is another. If even one memory fully returns, the house of cards I’ve built will collapse on my head and bury me beneath it.
It takes everything in me not to kiss her senseless, take her right here and now, and confess everything, but I can’t risk her well-being. The cruel implications would shatter her.
I witnessed what even fragments of her memories returning could cause. I didn’t lie about her brain trying to protect her; I fucking made sure of that. Every day, she got worse, refusing to eat and trying to harm herself. I have never felt more helpless or useless than when I could not soothe her.
She had to be hospitalized in a psychiatric ward, and seeing her like that killed me.
Then she went catatonic, her brain shutting off completely, and I had to do something, consequences be damned.
So I made sure she forgot everything, making it appear as if the accident caused her brain injury and wiped her memories—four years of her life.
That’s why I had to stay away, lurking in the shadows so the woman I love could live.
I’ve helped her from the beginning, wishing her success and a life, even if I wasn’t in it. That’s another issue, one she wouldn’t forgive me for either. She would see it as control, even though Conrad is loyal to her.
I drew the line at her being with another man. I am an asshole like that, and I won’t apologize for it. The thought alone would have either killed me or sent me on a killing spree, ending whoever dared to touch my woman, which wouldn’t have helped stabilize our precarious situation.
“You’re a strange man,” she says, her eyes delving into me as if wanting to reach my depths and uncover me.
“Possibly. I just know what I want.”
Incapable of not touching her, I cut the distance between us, dinner long forgotten. I snake my arm around her back, drawing her flush to my chest.
She looks up at me, her brows furrowing. “And you want me?”
Pressing my forehead to hers, I breathe in her sweet scent, grounding me in the present and away from our tragic past. “Only ever you. Death will be the only thing to separate me from you.”
“Quite dramatic.”
“Facts, mi sol.”
We remain perfectly silent, and she palms my chest, her mouth parting in a delicate O. “Kiss me.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
Curling my hand in her hair, I tug her head back.
I kiss her, pouring in every bit of my undying love and mad obsession.
And I kiss her some more, so she never doubts who she belongs to.
I kiss her as if my life starts and ends with her, as if her mouth were my daily prayer and my sins could be forgiven.
I kiss her like I would die if I stopped—nibbling, licking, tasting.
So I don’t, coming up for only a shallow breath before drowning back in the paradise of her.
She’s my coveted haven, and I refuse to leave it to sail at the mercy of a treacherous sea.
When the kiss ends, she looks dazed, touching her swollen lips.
She tilts her head, her voice a mere murmur. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“It’s working, isn’t it?”
She smiles, displaying a portrait of unmatched beauty. I don’t need art. I could watch her eternally without ever tiring.
“Hmm, let me think.”
“Who’s playing dangerous games now?” I ask, trying to tamp down my desire. I have to remain patient and let her initiate contact.
She’s too skittish, and I refuse to undo the progress we’ve made just because I am dying to get close to her again.
She bites her lip, and I can see the battle of wills between wanting to be taken and wanting to wait a little longer.
We have all the time in the world. Since she showed up in Chicago after our first fight, I knew we would be inevitable—that she would give in, even if she knew she shouldn’t.
A love like ours can remain hidden but never forgotten. That’s why I need to love this version of her, so the part that pushed me away stays dormant.
She takes my hand, and I follow her upstairs to her bedroom.
Neutral colors have replaced the once-vivid room with dozens of pillows and streams of light hanging from every corner.
Hardwood floors have replaced the plush carpet.
No trace of browns, yellows, and greens—her color scheme—no comfy sitting spots, and no vases of white roses.
I’ve been in her bedroom so many times, but it looks nothing like before. A vision of our younger selves giving in to desperation plays before my eyes from happier days—until the carnage ensued.
Her memory loss is a blessing and a curse.
I drag a hand down my face, trying to escape the clutches of that nightmare lying in wait, ready to pounce and devour every bit of ease.
“What is it?” she whispers as if not to scare me.
I shake my head to distance myself from that fucking time. “Nothing. Just savoring being in your bedroom.”
She licks her lips, trying but failing to remain strong. “Hmm, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“If you say so,” I challenge.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll take a shower first,” she says over her shoulder and enters the bathroom, but she doesn’t close the door, leaving me at an impasse. Not even when we made love for the first time was I this nervous, this undecided about the right thing to do: follow her or stay in place.
I walk toward the window and see the men patrolling the perimeter.
It’s beyond me how the human brain functions. Smarter people haven’t figured it out. This place is her refuge, yet it chills me. The compound turned into a bloody mess, dead bodies scattered everywhere before I set it on fire, painting a picture of hell unbound.
Her own father used her to get to me, allying with another family in Chicago. Many men perished that day, including my father, proving that alliances are weak in the Mafia.
If he had asked, I would have helped him. He made an unfortunate deal that nearly bankrupted him, not realizing he’d been played.
Trapped and bound in a warehouse on this compound, my former enemy crouched before me and told me what he intended to do to her.
I snapped, butting him so fucking hard I cracked his forehead.
What happened afterward is a blur. High on adrenaline and the need to save her, I escaped my bindings, killing everyone in my way, stealthy as the reaper.
Dripping with blood, I stormed the house and shot her father in his office, not realizing she was at his side.
She took off, yelling that she hated me, hopped into her car, and crashed into a fucking tree. The car looked like a damn pretzel. It’s a wonder she survived.
The shower stops running, but it’s the sound of her soft footsteps padding toward me that yanks me from the past.
She looks breathtaking in a black negligee with lace at the hem and around the décolleté. The two thin straps taunt me to slip it off and uncover her. I drag in a lungful of air, but it doesn’t help tame my longing because her floral scent infuses the air.
Her presence alone threatens my control like nothing else. I wish so badly to be the gentleman, but something savage thrashes beneath my skin, roaring with the need to claim and mark.
She bites her lip, trying to hide her satisfied smile, fanning my restraint to ash.
“Shower. Me.” I stumble past her, half blind with desire.
Her chuckle reaches me, and I realize how idiotic I sounded.
I undress with jerky movements, my cock springing out and hitting my abdomen. It’s like all my blood has rushed toward my groin, unbalancing me.
Inside the shower, I throw my head back, the lukewarm water doing nothing to soothe the pressure.
I can still smell her shower gel, and even though she has some manly ones, the same products I use back home, it’s hers I squirt into my palm and wrap around my steel length. If I go to her in this state, I’ll nail her to the damn bed and fuck her raw.
Bracing an arm on the shower stall, I squeeze my eyes shut, chasing my mad pleasure. I imagine her––groaning her name like a wish in the night.
I sense her rather than see her, her small gasp indicating I didn’t conjure my fantasy, but it’s real.
Swiping my palm to erase the condensation from the shower stall glass, I catch her on the other side, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Mouth slightly ajar, she seems enraptured by my jerking off, my little voyeur.
I fucked her so many times, in every possible position, from her mouth to her pussy and ass. But she doesn’t remember me, and fuck it feels like I get the chance to do it all over again. The thought alone makes my cock weep some more pre-cum.
I lock eyes with her, commanding, “Eyes on me.”
She swallows hard, and I continue, “You wanted to see how desperate I am for you? I’m fucking my hand and imagining it’s you.”
A stuttered moan falls from her lips, and I grunt, “An animal, that’s what you turned me into, with no control. One who wants to fuck you like it’s my life’s mission. Stretch your tight pussy, come into you so deep it will nullify the contraceptive shot.”
My rhythm turns frantic, increasing my speed, tightening my grip to the point of pain. I am so close to release I feel it in my heavy balls, ready to burst.
She watches me with rapt attention, only adding to the eroticism of the moment. She grips the edge of the sink, licking her lips, and the pressure builds and builds to unbearable, coiling around my limbs.